


Morning

by Pink_Dalek



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:11:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another little domestic bit of fluff with the Thursdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> We finally got the new series over here, and after "Fugue," I have decided that the Thursdays are absolutely adorable. The kids, the way Fred is with them, and especially Fred and Win. I hope we see more of them. I'd ship Morse/Joan, except I know the poor guy never caught a break in his personal life. Perhaps an AU...
> 
> Edited to remove an Americanism that sneaked past me.

When the alarm clock jangled Fred drowsily shut it off, then snuggled closer to Win and drifted back to sleep.

At eight, with their parents' bedroom uncharacteristically quiet, Joan stepped out of the bathroom and nearly bumped into her younger brother Sam about to head downstairs. "Did Mum or Dad say anything to you about him having the day off?" she asked. Not that that would explain why their mother wasn't up and busy downstairs. Sam shook his head. "I'm going to check on them, then."

She knocked on the door. "Mum? Dad? Are you okay?" She waited a moment, then knocked harder. "Are you awake?" She tried the door and found it unlocked. "I'm coming in." ' _Please_ don't be doing anything I don't want to see,' she added silently. Although they were good about locking the door when necessary. All it had taken was for her then-six-years-old brother to innocently ask over breakfast one sunny day, "Why do Joanie and me have to go right to sleep when we go to bed, but you two get to wrestle when you go to bed?" It had been several more years before she'd understood why her father had nearly choked on his tea and her mother had blushed and said, "I _told_ you to lock the door, Fred!"

They were asleep. Joan went over and shook her mother gently. "Mum?" Win opened her eyes. " Mum, it's eight."

"What?" Win turned over to look at the clock on Fred's nightstand, which disturbed him enough that he made a rumbling noise and shifted a bit. "Oh, no! Fred!" She started shaking him. "Fred! Wake up!"

"What's wrong?" Joan could see the copper emerge past the brain fog, ready to protect his family.

"It's eight! You'll be late!" Win was already out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown.

Fred looked at the clock. "Bugger!" Joan left them to their morning rush and headed downstairs. She started the kettle and got out breakfast ingredients. Upstairs she could hear Fred rushing to dress and shave without nicking himself, Win fussing at him. "You need more than just toast and tea in you," echoed down the stairs.

"It's eggs in a basket this morning," she told her brother as she turned on the cooker. "Set the table, will you?" Soon she had two eggs cooking on their bread slices in one pan, bacon sizzling in the other. Her mum came downstairs in a housedress, hair hastily brushed. 

"Thank you, love," Win said as she slipped past. "You finish those up, then you and Sam eat, so you don't miss your bus. I'll get your father's breakfast." 

Joan was out of the house by quarter past, Sam leaving not long after. So when Morse arrived to pick up Fred, it was Win who opened the door in a housedress and apron. Morse seemed disconcerted.

“I, er, I’m here for Fred.”

“He’s upstairs finishing up. It’s been a bit of a hectic morning. Come in.” 

He looked terribly young and adorably nervous, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I can wait in the car—I don’t want to—intrude.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ve got the kettle on."

She led him past the lounge and the dining room, filled with comfortable old furniture, to the sunny kitchen at the back. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I-- I wouldn't want to be a trouble."

"It's no trouble." Win was already filling a cup, and it smelled heavenly. Far better than the stuff he'd overbrewed to go with his Weetabix earlier. "How do you take it?"

"White, one sugar."

He savored his first sip-- it tasted even better than it smelled. "Thank you."

Win appeared to be in the middle of the ironing. Two dress shirts hung crisply on their hangars, while a third lay nearly finished on the ironing board. Morse couldn't help but envy how smooth and neat they were, thinking of his own attempts on the shirt he was wearing. Once he made sergeant, the pay rise would let him send out his shirts to the local laundry, but until then he was on his own.

Win was busy at the counter. "Morse, would you like a sandwich to take with you? It's ham and cheese today, and just as easy to make a second."

Fred entered the kitchen, smelling of toothpaste and crisp aftershave. "You may as well say yes. The kids won't take them any longer, and she misses not having more people to feed," he murmured, then spoke in a normal tone. "Morning, Morse."

"I heard that, Fred," Win lilted good-naturedly.

"I know." There was warmth in his tone. "Make the lad a sandwich," he told her when Morse dithered. "I'll make sure he eats it."

It was the friendliest steamrollering he'd ever encountered, Morse thought. Typical MO for Fred and Win Thursday. Five minutes later Fred had his hat and overcoat on, and both men had neatly wrapped sandwiches. Fred leaned over Win for a kiss.

"Have a good day, love," she told him fondly, straightening his tie.

"You too, pet."

"Keep each other safe."

"We will."


End file.
